


Poison My Attention, Take My Affection

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Couple, PTSD, Panic Attack, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 04:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: Yes. Sometimes they had days where they would not have this. Sometimes they would have their terrible moments. But as long as they met back, again and again and again, Hermann would do it. He vowed to do it.-or-Newt has a bad dream and needs space.





	Poison My Attention, Take My Affection

“Holy shit, dude.” Newton arched off the mattress, flopping back in the same breath as he turned and almost bumped his chin against Hermann’s cheek. He laughed, panting hard, and scrambled to cling to his husband. “Holy shit.”

“Mm, as you’ve said,” Hermann answered, turning to kiss at the marks on Newton’s wrists from where they had bound him to the corners of the mattress.

“I love you, dude.”

“I should h—”

“ _Fuck_ , I love you.”

Hermann chuckled, avoiding another accidental blow to his forehead, and stretched up to kiss him again. “Yes, thank you, darling.”

“Fucking fuck, I—”

“Newton!” Hermann shouted fondly, tugging his hands down from the back of Hermann’s head where they were distracting him with wonderful little strokes. “Thank you. Yes. I love you too. _Please_ , can we get some rest?”

Their bodies found their familiar shapes, limbs entangled, nose tips brushing, desperate and shaky laughs bubbling up like it was their first time all over again. A static leapt across the faint drift bond, a pleasurable wave mixed with a tinge of nervous energy, but it passed, and Hermann made room for Newt to use his shoulder as a pillow same as Newt slid his legs around to cradle Hermann’s bad hip. Hermann had a brief thought that he could not believe how utterly happy their lives were, how content and perfect it was to sleep with the love of his life like this and kissed his forehead again as he started to drift off.

“I love you,” Newt whispered, his voice already syrup-sweet with sleep.

Hermann hummed a soft laugh. He nuzzled, and found his hand up to Newt’s chest, where he could feel the rise and fall of his lungs, the slowing patter of his heartbeat.

“I love you too, ridiculous man.”

 

He should have sensed it.

That was the first thought Hermann had, once it was calmed down. He felt it building in the peripheral and perhaps that was why they had been so…amorous last night. To push it away. It fight it.

It was only a few hours before Newt jerked away painfully, sitting up with a gargled yell that dissolved as the guilt caught up with him. He collapsed against his knees, panting hard, tipping over into tears. Hermann sat up stiffly, ignoring a deep and uncomfortable pain up his side as he gathered Newt up.

“Just a nightmare, _liebe_. Just a—”

Except it was the Dream that Hermann couldn’t soothe away.

The one where Newt was over him, pressed down, warning lights flashing over them in garish colors as Newt’s hands squeezed and squeezed and all the begging and crying did nothing to loosen the vice grip. Sometimes Hermann still got up and stopped Shao from firing. Sometimes he didn’t and Newt breathed raggedly at phantom bullet wounds down his spine. And sometimes…. Sometimes….

They had been fewer and farther between, luckily. Time and gross amounts of affection had seemed to smooth out most of them, and though Newt still had his bad days, he would simply put on one of Hermann’s oversized sweaters, curl up against him and watch mindless television until he thawed enough to explain what had bothered him. Generally, a nightmare, of course, but sometimes it was a loud sound while they were out shopping at the supermarket or someone cutting them off in traffic and Hermann laying into the horn. Sometimes it was a change in the weather. Sometimes it was an errant butter knife knocked off the counter. But, unfortunately, it was often just the night waiting for them to relax and Newton’s memories to spring on him. He’d wake first in the middle of the night, their limbs still entangled, Hermann in his customary pyjamas and Newt in his bold yellow boxers with the worn waistband. He ran hot and, lucky them, his husband ran cold and they found their symbiosis.

Hermann knew it was the Dream when Newt slapped Hermann’s hands away and extricated himself from their bed.

“Darling, please, let me—”

Newt rounded his shoulder against the request, stumbling towards the bathroom.  Hermann heard the door click shut and when he locked it, Hermann grabbed his cane and went to the bathroom, knocking gently.

“Go away,” Newt answered, muffled through the partition.

“Never,” Hermann answered, same as he did the last time this happened, same as he would every time it happened. Because it was true, and he was sure Newton needed to hear it.

Some water ran to obscure the crying. It shut off. They sat on their respective sides of the door until dawn, letting the drift bond settle like arthritic bones.

 

It was not entirely uncommon after these events that they should go a few days without physical affection. It hurt to see him like this, but Newt would make it abundantly clear that he couldn’t handle being touched and the quiet link that sometimes felt like a warm and fuzzy comfort would crackle and burn if Hermann got too close. He held up his hand, hunched his back more than necessary to make himself small, and provided the sanctuary of physical space Newt so dreadfully needed.

It was all part of the recovery. Hermann understood this. He reminded himself with harsh words and clenched fists in the shadows of their home, mentally berating himself when he did not need to, before he went about his work, leaving a soft façade for Newt to return to. On his terms. When he was ready. It’s what he deserved. It’s what he needed.

 

It seemed….

Well, it seemed to be taking longer than usual.

Usually, and he did not like to make assumptions but merely play in the data that was already provided him, it was two, maybe three days they had to wait. Nerves would settle, if they were lucky it hit near a scheduled visit with his psychiatrist to talk through the moment, and a peace would return to their home. Hermann was a patient man. Ten years had taught him the exact breadth of his patience and it was staggering. Three days was nothing. Three days was pushing his resolve. Three days was agony.

But, no, he was a patient man.

No, he could sleep in the guest room, even if Newt almost instinctively took the couch. He could avoid lacing their fingers together over breakfast. He could ignore his impulses to kiss Newt before work or grab him around his soft waist and hold him from behind or trace back the fringe of his hair and remind him he needed a haircut. So, he’d had time without Newt in his life. So, Hermann had instantly grown accustomed to these casual intimacies. So, he fed off them, and built on them, and ached for them.

But, he understood.

He waited.

 

It was rounding out to day four that Hermann almost ruined it. They had taken separate cars to the university. Newt hopped on his motorcycle, ignoring the threat of inevitable rain that afternoon, and Hermann offered to drive him home when they met outside Newt’s department for lunch. Newt smiled and leaned in and Hermann took it as an unspoken invitation to kiss his cheek, but Newt pulled back and looked away.

“I just don’t wanna leave my bike, Herms,” Newt said, worrying his hands together.

Hermann’s stomach dropped. “I understand,” he answered a bit harsher than he intended.

“I mean, I just—”

“I know what you mean, Newton,” Hermann answered and took their paper bags he had packed their lunches in and walked them to the trash bins.

“Wait, c’mon. Herms, I—”

“I have my office hours. I’ll see you tonight.”

Hermann sat in his office, blinds drawn and door shut, holding his head. Miserable bastard. He felt sick for his outburst and didn’t know how to fix it. He let the hour pass, staying in the dark, and was almost late for his lecture. He drove home and sighed at the heavy rain that opened and crashed down on them. His leg hurt. It hurt worse than his chest and he prepared the hot water bottle before he stretched out on the couch. When Newt came home, he didn’t stir, and the front door slammed with more force than necessary, enough to make Hermann jump from his dozing nap.

“Newt?”

Newt looked ready to jump out of his skin, soaked down to his bones. He was pale, eyes too wide and went to their bedroom. He rushed into the master bath attached, the door closed almost immediately after. It took a bit of maneuvering and cursing and general piss-offery, but Hermann found his spot next to the door.

“Herms? I hear you out there. Go away, man.”

Hermann settled on the carpet, tapping the door with his cane. “Never,” he answered.

They turned on faucets.

 

“Let me.”

“I’m cleaning it up!” Newt shouted back, swiping the shards of glass together into a haphazard pile. “Back off!”

“It was an accident,” Hermann answered. “I’ll get the broom. You’re going to cut yourself on—”

Newt hissed just as Hermann’s prediction came true. He pulled his hand back, a spot of red on the side of his hand where he had scraped it through the mess. He sat back, and Hermann crouched to check on his injury only to have Newt scoot back further, loosing traction on the tiled floor.

“I’ve got it,” Newt said, wide-eyed. He closed them instantly, shaking his head. “I’ve got this. You’re gonna…I’ve got this, Herms. Let me do this.”

“Let me see your hand,” Hermann said, getting a little desperate. His stomach soured when Newt shook his head. “I don’t mean to….Newt, please. You hurt yourself. Let me….”

“I told you,” Newt answered, getting up quickly, overcorrecting as he almost fell back and grabbed the counter, leaving a red mark on it. He glared at it, pulling his hand away. “I got this. I got this, Hermann! Leave me alone!”

Hermann stood there in the kitchen as Newt kept a wide berth. He disappeared to the bathroom. Faucets.

The mess didn’t get cleaned up into later that night, before bed, before Hermann went to the bedroom and said goodnight to Newt on the couch, too afraid to touch the back of his head in passing.

 

It was Sunday when Hermann took his place back on the couch. No classes to attend, the lectures already planned out, paperwork graded. It was a quiet moment and the weather had cleared. They could have gone out, perhaps drove to town to check out the new coffee shop recommended to them by the Chois in a well-maintained and often borderline-inappropriate text chain that Newt and Tendo primarily sustained—Hermann had a separate chat just for Allison to lament on their spouses insatiable flirting; all in good fun.

Instead of new coffee shops or reading the papers together or even watching a trashy sci-fi film from the 80s, Hermann took a book and sprawled out on the couch to read. There was a chill in the house that persisted. He couldn’t think how to warm it, so he read until he dozed off under the numbing cold.

He woke to a familiar weight pressed atop him and gasped softly.

“I’m not ready,” Newt whispered when Hermann began to shift, to wrap himself securely around his husband with the hopes of never letting go. Hermann froze, stiffened, and relaxed back. He felt Newt do the same atop him. “I’m sorry. I need you, Herms.”

“I need you too, darling man,” Hermann answered, confused by Newt’s shaking.

“I miss you.” Newt’s voice was muffled by Hermann’s shirt. “I’m an idiot. My stupid fucking brain—”

“Enough of that, Hermann answered.

“No. It…I freak out. I even just think about coming over here and I can’t breathe, man. But I had to. I don’t wanna fight anymore. Fuck, I miss….”

Hermann sighed, some tender thing in him dislodged by the admission. He gently stroked Newt’s hair until the fists bunched on his chest threatened to shove him away. Hermann put his hands back up on the arm rest, tucking them under his head to show he was no threat.

“I’m sorry,” Newt whispered again.

“Don’t be,” Hermann said, fighting every impulse to kiss his forehead. “I’m simply glad you’re here.”

Newt stayed there a moment, his nose crushed against Hermann’s chest, his legs carefully placed out on the cushion between Hermann’s legs. His fingers were clenched around a handful of Hermann’s sweater. Everything careful and tense but still there. His breathing evened out and it almost felt like he might have dozed off.

A little shift, just moving his hip to get better situated so he wasn’t crushing Hermann’s leg, dragged his stomach across Hermann. Certainly, without meaning to, Newt moaned against the mustard-colored wool of his husband’s sweater.

“Newton?” Hermann was worried something upset him again and he would leave, right up until a purposeful roll of his hips made Hermann clamp his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry,” Newt repeated. He began to curl back, clearly ashamed with himself, and Hermann raised his good leg. He instinctively hooked it around Newt’s ankles. “I’m so…Herms.”

“I’ll keep my hands here,” Hermann promised quickly, lifting his elbows slightly. “ _Bitte Schatz. Bitte._ ”

Newt whimpered, smoothing his hands out at the permission granted. He breathed deeply, following an invisible line up to Hermann’s neck, where he pressed dry lips to his skin Hermann forced himself to relax, stretching his neck up as Newt tugged gently at the neckline and exposed his collarbone to the chill air, covering it with his mouth.

“ _Das ist so gut, Schatz_ ,“ Hermann said, lacing his fingers together beneath his head.

Usually, Newt might tease him for switching to German. That his mind was so fritzed from love and desire that he forgot English, but he sighed pleasantly against Hermann’s skin, digging his hips in again. Blunt, calloused palms dragged up his sweater and skated across Hermann’s bare stomach, pulling out a surprised gasp. He felt his skin ignite in a blush and bit his lips when Newt threatened to dip underneath the waistband of his pants.

“Don’t leave me,” Newt said through a whine, dragging lips up towards Hermann’s chin, the join of his jaw.

“Never,” Hermann answered, inadvertently bucking his hips up to meet Newt’s hands. “Oh. Sorry, darling, I—”

Newt moved quickly, straddling his husband’s hips and grabbing his head, finding those hands beneath his head and grabbing them as he kissed him. No faucets turned on to hide the noises, no separate rooms. When Newt pulled Hermann’s hands free, he took a bold risk and shucked Newt’s shirt, rising up to meet him. The reunited again in a kiss, taking breath from each other, open mouths and greedy hands.

Newt blocked Hermann from undoing his belt and simply rolled their hips together, grinding atop him for friction and holding Hermann’s hands up near his shoulders. He rolled his eyes back, tiny noises of pleasure escaping. He growled something and attacked Hermann’s mouth, framing his sharp cheeks as his movements became more frantic. One of his hands moved down, holding the side of Hermann’s neck and Hermann reached up, holding it in place, flicking his thumb lovingly over those cracked knuckles he adored. The static across the drift rippled and all it took was a swipe of his tongue past Newt’s teeth, a squeeze of his ass through well-loved jeans, and a breathy moan returned before Newt came undone above him.

Newt crumpled against him when he was done, twitching occasionally as he came down from it. A watery laugh erupted, and he clung to his husband, finding his spot there across all the bony planes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m an ass.”

“Mm,” Hermann answered and laughed a little, the sound jumping around his throat and against Newt’s lips. “I do love that ass though.”

Newt paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, and burst out into perfect, robust laughter. He kissed Hermann, calling him _vulgar_ things against his mouth. Rolling to meet every gentle touch Hermann returned.

Yes. Sometimes they had days where they would not have this. Sometimes they would have their terrible moments. But as long as they met back, again and again and again, Hermann would do it. He vowed to do it.

“You’re being inappropriate,” Hermann finally said when Newt started complimenting the way his nipples showed through his sweater, a tame detour from what he had been rambling not two seconds ago. “Take me to bed, darling.”

“Think I can get you to say nice things to me in German again?”

“ _Iss meinen ganzen Arsch, liebling.“_

“Doctor _Gottlieb_ ,“ Newt said, and Hermann delighted at the light sprinkling of crimson on Newt’s neck. He followed it with his thumb, then his lips. It was fine if they didn’t make it up from the couch for a while.


End file.
